


want you more

by ilia



Category: Given (Anime), Given (Manga)
Genre: M/M, Recovery, Ritsuka is sunshine again, Suicidal ideation if you squint, We all want to die after the loss of a loved one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilia/pseuds/ilia
Summary: Mafuyu wakes up to Ritsuka's bedroom full of sunshine.
Relationships: Satou Mafuyu/Uenoyama Ritsuka
Comments: 12
Kudos: 245





	want you more

**Author's Note:**

> I sit and I stare at your clothes in the drawer  
> I cry and my knuckles get sore  
> 'Cause I still believe it won't be like before  
> Now somehow I just want you more
> 
> More, Halsey

The light of Tokyo’s early morning filters in through shuttered blinds. A meager stripe warming Mafuyu’s fingertips where his hand rests, coiled, upon bedsheets that are not his own.

This bed is comfortable, he thinks as he rises from the oblique sensations of a dreamless sleep. More so than his own. It’s merely a bedroll on the floor, but the sheets are always clean, and if he buries his face in the blanket, he can smell Ritsuka.

He does it now, pulling the comforter up to sleep-crusted eyes. Mafuyu inhales deeply and smells him there. It’s the smell of a brand of detergent, an expensive one. The sort Mafuyu's mother never had the money to buy. He hadn’t even realized he’d envied it until he’d begun to smell it on Ritsuka. Even now, he’s not sure if money plays a factor at all. That it’s Ritsuka’s is what he fixates upon.

When Mafuyu is around Ritsuka, when he’s smelling him, he’s feeling joy.

His fingers twitch, and they dislodge the stripe of sunlight that has painted them so keenly. Mafuyu doesn’t need to peek his head over the ledge of Ritsuka’s bed to know he’s not here. Ritsuka’s breathing is throaty when he sleeps. Loud, and unreasonably cute. Mafuyu has learned it well, in the precious nights the both of them have shared. He likes the way Ritsuka breathes, the steady assurance like the second hand of a clock sitting high on a quiet wall. Time goes on. Seasons fade, they become one another.

The night before, he found himself missing it as he’d laid in the dark. Ritsuka’s breathing is quieter when he’s awake. Last night, they’d shared a gentle kiss on Mafuyu’s bedroll, lips dragging along each other with a delicate, hesitant brush of tongue while Mafuyu trembled and Ritsuka’s fingers pressed a little too hard into Mafuyu’s thighs. Only their fingers remained tangled as they'd separated for bed.

“Mafuyu,” Ritsuka had said suddenly as they’d laid there, his word penetrating the stillness that had settled around them.

“Mm?”

A silence. “Goodnight.”

Mafuyu’s fingers had tightened. “Goodnight, Ritsuka.”

He couldn’t quite formulate the words he wanted to have on his tongue then, not with the silence between them and Ritsuka already comfortable in his own bed. The way he wanted to ask Ritsuka to join him. Just to sleep. Just for the comfort of Ritsuka's chest and arms.

—That he’d only shared a bed with one person, only with Yuki. That he wants to know how it feels with someone else. If it’s different. If it’s the same. If Mafuyu’s fingers will twine about Ritsuka’s without needing to think about it. If they’ll fit like the puzzle pieces he’d sworn he and Yuki used to personify.

That there are holes he feels deep in the cavity of his chest when he lays in the dark and waits for sleep to seize him. Holes he’s suddenly afraid nobody else will be able to fill.

It had taken Mafuyu quite some time to calm enough to get to sleep. And judging from Ritsuka’s silence, he wasn’t alone.

Now, he pulls himself from the bedsheets, straightening his borrowed pajamas and rubbing the residue of a night’s rest from his eyes. Outside their embrace it’s cold. Ritsuka’s apartment is big—a necessity, to accommodate four, and the wooden floors and always chilly.

He wraps his arms about his middle as he makes his way down the hall.

Silence enshrouds the space. Shoes sit kicked off and abandoned by the doorway. The sofa has plumped back up from where he and Ritsuka occupied it the night prior. Together they sat with their guitars on either side, each against the opposite arm, legs tangled in the center of the cushions while they played together. Mafuyu’s melody, and Ritsuka’s accompaniments. Ritsuka’s sound that had wound its way around Mafuyu’s own. Battling. Amplifying. Complementing.

Mafuyu’s fingers trail along those same cushions as he passes by. It had been some time since the both of them had been able to play like that. Had Ritsuka not been taken away for summer vacation to the northern provinces, they’d have been doing this daily. But Ritsuka had gone, and Mafuyu had resorted to playing alone, playing with Haruki, with Ugetsu too when Ugetsu’s temper was mild enough not to singe.

—He hasn’t played with Akihiko yet. Mafuyu's not sure he’s comfortable with the pull of Akihiko’s face when he watches him play his guitar. As though he’s remembering something painful. Mafuyu doesn’t want to cause anyone unnecessary pain.

Regardless, he and Ritsuka had finally gotten to play. And Ritsuka’s face had put to rest whether Mafuyu had gained much from any of the experiences.

“You’ve gotten good,” he’d said, blue eyes widening at Mafuyu. And Mafuyu had decided he liked being looked at like that.

Not to mention that flush through Mafuyu’s chest whenever Ritsuka pays him a compliment. “I have?”

“Yeah, you have. It makes me angry.” Ritsuka’s tongue protruded from the side of his mouth as his focus narrowed in on his guitar. “You’re catching up to me much too quickly. Can’t have that, can we?”

Mafuyu had blinked, and gone to his own chords again. That saccharine feeling of the compliment had taken hours to dissipate in his chest.

Mafuyu notices it more and more frequently now. Joy. Gentle words and touches that used to cause brief warmth seem to ignite something more visceral within him now. Mafuyu smiles, even when he doesn’t intend to, even when his smiling might earn him strange looks, when Hiiragi kicks him hard in the shins and asks him if he’s thinking about his new boyfriend, and Mafuyu can’t help the creeping pink up his neck and at the tips of his ears.

Before, joy was frost on the grasses and leaves in late spring, a trivial beauty that disappeared much too fast. Now he feels it down to the tips of his calloused fingertips.

And the reason for it, music. Music, and Yuki’s Gibson left behind. And Ritsuka.

Mafuyu can see him now, in the same t-shirt and boxer shorts he wore when they went to bed the night prior. He has his back turned to the apartment as he leans over the patio. As Mafuyu watches, a tendril of smoke coils away from his mouth and into the dirty air of Tokyo beyond.

Ritsuka left for the summer chewing on a keen disappointment. He came back with the sides of his head shaved, and a newfound habit of smoking cigarettes.

Ritsuka turns towards the patio's door as Mafuyu slides it open, struggling with the hinge.

“Ah, this damn thing,” Ritsuka mumbles, cigarette sticking out the side of his mouth. “Hang on.”

He heaves it closed again, and wind brushes over them both. Mafuyu steps into Ritsuka on instinct.

They fumble, Ritsuka’s hand at his back, then his hip, Mafuyu’s arms drawn up between their chests, while they regain their posture. When Mafuyu’s gaze meets Ritsuka’s, his cheeks are warm. Mafuyu’s feel the same.

“Good morning,” Mafuyu greets, and smiles.

“Good morning.” Ritsuka takes the cigarette out of his mouth. He toys with it on his fingers, much in the way Mafuyu has seen Akihiko play with his own when he is thinking hard about something that must take him very far away. A learned habit. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Fine.” Mafuyu leans in closer.

“Are you cold?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Do you want to go inside?”

Mafuyu shakes his head, cheek and nose slipping along the fine line of Ritsuka’s collarbone as it goes. Beneath, he can feel muscle catching on his chin, the same muscle that draws his eyes when he’s not careful. He finds himself wanting to reach out and touch it more than he’d care to admit. He wonders if Ritsuka would let him.

Even now, Ritsuka is affording him an inscrutable look. Mafuyu’s lashes bat, and it becomes a resigned smile. 

“Well come in closer then,” Ritsuka says, and Mafuyu complies without further objection.

Their shoulders draw together as they lean against the chilly patio railing in unison. Tokyo sprawls underneath them, some apartment towers as tall as this one, shops and restaurants distinctive to Ritsuka’s old fashioned neighborhood. Ritsuka takes a drag of the cigarette, and Mafuyu watches.

“Can I try?”

“Do you want to?”

Mafuyu’s fingers have risen halfway to touch the white stick. “Maybe. What does it taste like?”

Ritsuka ponders for a moment, and inhales again. This time, he exhales towards Mafuyu. The smoke travels up his nose and burns at his eyes, and Mafuyu is coughing.

“Mafuyu!” Ritsuka takes his cheeks in his palms. “It wasn’t _that_ bad, was it?”

“I guess so.”

They trade a look, and Mafuyu smiles Ritsuka’s way. There it is again, that joy like sunshine that he’s come to associate with times like this, when the both of them are rendered laughing for no reason at all. Like children. His cheeks squish together, lips distorting as Ritsuka toys with them, as Mafuyu wails and his gentle little fingers pry at Ritsuka’s wrists to no give in return. He laughs harder.

They kiss, and the wind sweeps over them once more. Mafuyu closes his eyes to it all but the feeling of it. If he tries hard enough, it might feel like their first, that moment of ecstasy backstage after he had finally screamed, when it physically felt as though Ritsuka had reached into his chest and restarted his heart. Now, he can’t hear, can’t feel, but for Ritsuka’s lips on his.

“I like the way it tastes on you, though” Mafuyu breathes. “Like cinder on strawberry.”

“That’s strangely poetic.”

“Enough for lyrics?”

Ritsuka snorts. “Enough if you want Akihiko to give you hell for the rest of your life.”

Mafuyu laughs. He can’t help himself. Eyes squeezed shut against the wind, fingers weaving their way beneath Ritsuka’s collar in search of the heat of his skin in the chilly Tokyo morning, he laughs. At the thought of Akihiko’s face if something so soft were to come out of his mouth, gentle cotton metaphors harshly juxtaposed beside Akihiko’s smoldering, sharp core. He’ll write a love song next if it kills him.

He opens his eyes, and Ritsuka’s mouth is hanging ajar.

“What?”

“You just.” Ritsuka clears his throat, and changes his posture. His feet shuffle. “You don’t usually laugh like that.”

“Well, I’m happy.”

Ritsuka kisses Mafuyu before he can prepare for it, and he finds himself swept away in the big, warm arms, the press of Ritsuka’s chest. It’s not like before, not the sweet, tentative thing, the tranquil little moment pulled from their day. Ritsuka bends Mafuyu’s spine until they’re flush. Mafuyu tastes the hot, ashen press of Ritsuka’s tongue.

Ritsuka kisses Mafuyu as the world watches from beyond the cool metal railing of the patio, and Mafuyu can feel his heart pound at the other boy’s warmth. Steady. It beats. it reminds him that he’s alive.

How many times, after that one worst winter of his life, did he feel at his ivory wrists to see if there was still a pulse there at all? How many times did Mafuyu trace blue veins with frigid fingertips and wonder if the blood had all dried up, before Ritsuka?

How frequently did he envy the frozen ground, would that he be buried beneath it too?

Ritsuka is prolonged sunshine, Mafuyu’s spring.

He sighs, and tightens his arms about Ritsuka’s neck. Freckled skin pulls along the freshly shaved hairs at the back of Ritsuka’s skull. Mafuyu’s fingertips go next, probing the way they feel, the delicate tug of freshly chopped hairs against the swirling grain of his fingertips. He likes it, he likes it all where Ritsuka is concerned.

They break away from one another, and Mafuyu peers at Ritsuka through strawberry lashes.

“ _Uenoyama-kun_."

They break apart on the balcony, with the wind curling around their bare ankles and fingertips pressed into one another’s palms. They kiss again as its licking makes Mafuyu shiver worse than ever and Ritsuka ushers them inside, before he announces that he’ll be making breakfast and Mafuyu nods a shy thanks. Ritsuka gets to work, crouching for pans and ingredients in the back of the cupboards, and Mafuyu watches him from the island through the fence of fingers in front of his face. His head spins high above Ritsuka’s sixth-story apartment. He feels as though he’s still catching his breath from the last time Ritsuka’s mouth was on his.

He’d anticipated to feel worse about all of this, Mafuyu ponders, as the smell of batter sizzling on the stovetop griddle reaches his nose and his stomach twists in delight. For _kissing_ like he has, _feeling_ like he has for someone whose eyes are blue like the ocean instead of that deep, penetrating amber, for twining his fingers through bone-straight hair that prickles rather than knots around him as they go. Ritsuka’s body is different from Yuki's, and Mafuyu has noticed every part of it. There are gentle little bones that protrude from Ritsuka’s wrists that make fingering the chords of the guitar an act of elegance rather than the mess of explosive brutality that was Yuki’s fingers on the strings. When he plays, Ritsuka looks at peace, not as though he’s hurting. As though it helps him. As though the music soothes him.

Mafuyu loving Ritsuka is an act of defiance, of war. He’s proud of his boyfriend, as proud as he is about his own music. Mafuyu leans his head on Ritsuka’s shoulders in public, and breathes in the smell of that detergent he so enjoys. When he brazenly takes Ritsuka's hand on the subway, in the sunlight, he’s allowed. Ritsuka’s candied name from Mafuyu’s lips is his weapon.

(Sometimes Mafuyu wonders too about the violence he feels with Ritsuka. This possession. This need for dominance. To mark Ritsuka as his own every day so that nobody dares touch him. To make him last. To make him _forever_.)

“You say it strangely,” Ugetsu had even commented once, as they laid in a jumble of lanky limbs in the middle of the man's cool underground kitchen, arms pressed to the tile as though that alone might help them escape Tokyo’s incarcerating heat. “With that lilt on your tongue. _Uenoyama-kun_ ,” he’d replicated. “Why is that?"

Mafuyu hadn’t looked up from the strings then, too focused on the perfect way his fingertips press down the serrations to pay Ugetsu’s uncanny observation much mind. “I love him.”

“Ah, is that it?” Something tangled between mockery and admiration had laid heavy on Ugetsu’s tone. From Mafuyu’s peripherals, he could see the cascade of ill-maintained hair catch on the thick lashes that lid eyes sharp as broken glass. “ _You love him_ , and so needy about it, too. Don’t say I didn’t warn you if he leaves one day.”

“I wouldn't."

He was shocked by Ugetsu’s fingers in his face, at his jaw, winding trimmed nails to his hair as they card through his curls. Ugetsu’s face was blank, devoid of emotion. Except for his eyes. There’s always so much pain in those eyes.

“Delicate things like you don’t last long in this world,” Ugetsu had drawled, before turning to his violin and playing a heavy melody imbued with whatever he’d elected not to say with words. Something that had left Mafuyu yearning. “Oh, but at the very least the music will be good..."

Sitting at the countertop, Mafuyu’s fingers have curled inwards to nip at the fleshy parts of his palm as he recalls that day. Ugetsu operates with an aura of pain ripe about his heart, fresh in his music. Mafuyu has always sensed it. As he opens himself to the world. He can practically taste the hurt when he’s in Ugetsu’s presence.

_But Mafuyu doesn’t want to be sad anymore._

He doesn’t realize he’s stood until he feels the cool tile of the kitchen at the bottom of his bare feet, doesn’t realize he’s reaching for Ritsuka until Mafuyu has him in hand. Ritsuka turns, surprised. His spatula hangs limp and dripping from his fingers.

He cooks. Mafuyu likes that, too. Mafuyu doesn’t know how, although he likes the grief Ritsuka gives him for his neglect in learning. He will one day.

Mafuyu kisses Ritsuka again, and this time he doesn’t hesitate. Arms wind up Ritsuka’s back to hold him close. Mafuyu revels in the hitch of Ritsuka’s breath as their tongues collide and hips press. Ritsuka’s body is soft and warm against his. The counter is intrusive and cool, where he’s been backed against it—

There’s the clearing of a throat, and they break apart. Ritsuka’s sister stands in the doorway. Her face is inscrutable. Long fingers tap a rhythm on the opposite arm.

“ _What_?" Ritsuka snaps, although his cheeks are hot. Mafuyu peers at the color. Suddenly he feels shy. It nestles tenderly in his gut.

“Your cakes are burning.” She points.

Silence falls heavy between them as she joins the table, and Ritsuka returns to the skillet.

Cakes with berries baked within pile high on the platter between them all. Mafuyu’s stomach groans as hesitant fingers clutch at his cutlery. Ritsuka laughs at him, and serves Mafuyu first.

Their fingers weave together on top of the table while Ritsuka’s sister looks on.

They talk of nothings; school treats the Uenoyamas as it seems to treat Mafuyu, with very little that stands out beyond the interactions with their peers that might be deemed valuable. Yayoi complains about the inconsistencies in her professor’s expectations and what she finds waiting on her examinations. Ritsuka talks about the band. Mafuyu nods when something’s mentioned between them that he knows about.

They bicker like siblings do. They’re casual, elbows resting on the scrubbed table, manners trailing in their wake as they eat and talk at the same time. And all the while, Ritsuka’s fingers remain twined with his. 

Mafuyu catches Yayoi’s eyes on them.

“You have a problem?” Ritsuka asks finally, when the stack has diminished to one or two extras.

“Just—“ she hesitates, and sighs. Her gaze penetrates Mafuyu’s. “Don’t you dare hurt my brother."

Ritsuka’s nostrils flare. “ _Yayoi_.”

“He acts like he’s cool, but he’s not. He’s ignorant, and inexperienced.” Yayoi continues, her finger jabbing across the table towards Ritsuka’s befuddled face. “You treat him well or you’ll have something coming.”

“Yayoi—“

“Ritsuka,” she snaps back, and her eyes burn where they meet her brother’s. “This is for your own good. Take it from me—you don’t know how much boys can ruin you without even trying."

Mafuyu looks from her towards her brother, and back. His fingers tighten on Ritsuka’s.

“Okay.” He smiles. “I can promise that.”

The glance Ritsuka gives him is tangled between affection and something else.

Their walk back to Ritsuka’s room is slow and heavy with regret, toes dragging along the wooden floor as they go. Mafuyu needs to leave, and Ritsuka needs to let him. They have shifts that will take them elsewhere that day. Obligations that tug them apart from the other. Ritsuka lingers in the doorway, and Mafuyu conglomerates the things that have scattered to the room’s far corners.

Love has hatched in his chest, he thinks, when he’s found one sock but not the other, and Ritsuka steps beyond the precipice to assist with the hunt. It’s love for the way Ritsuka’s eyes are soft when they look at him, and for the rolling in Mafuyu’s gut when his fingers brush.

They trade one last kiss at the door while Yayoi makes a show of groaning in the background.

“Ignore her,” Ritsuka tells Mafuyu. His thumb presses deep into Mafuyu’s palm.

“Kay.” Mafuyu grins.

Even Tokyo's midmorning sun doesn’t scald him the way it used to.

**Author's Note:**

> I found Given a year after the death of my father. It's helped so much with the grief. Anyway, Mafuyu deserves to heal too.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/iliawrites)!


End file.
